


The things I write for my sister

by Uniasus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood Play, Death, Dubious Consent, F/M, Multi, NSFW, Necrophilia, Sex, Smut, Torture, blood letting, just lots of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to the prompt:  Voldemort/Bellatrix & random person he's torturing "Keep Looking at me like that and we won't make it to the bed"</p>
<p>Please, please read the tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The things I write for my sister

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those things where I give in to my sister's demands and write what she wants me too. In this case, it turns into this. I was much prouder of the original, but I lost it cuz I composed it as a Tumblr answer and then Chrome didn't save it, so here's a post-nano rewrite. Enjoy?
> 
> It was interesting writing it, simply cuz it's a style shift for me, but my last three fics have also been written like this (though totally PG) so....yeah?
> 
> Still not sure how to introduce this thing. So I'm just going to say again **read the tags**. This is not a happy, nor sane, fic. But I'd still love your thoughts ^_^

He likes the color red. They way it gleams. 'Red sky in the morning, sailors' red warning' is a childhood phrase that has always stayed with him. He takes it upon himself to watch every dawn, and if red bleeds into the sky he makes sure blood runs elsewhere that day.

He had always liked red by itself, but when he saw it bloom on Bellatrix's chest in the wake of a curse, watched it drip down her chest, watched her dip her own finger in the cut, lick it clean, and then give the witch who hit her a view of Bellatrix nibbling on her severed pinkie as a finial sight, he felt his own blood reacting.

She locked eyes with him, smearing pinky blood on her nose, and he knew he had found a kindred spirit. 

Together, every red morning they would break into a muggle home. Bella would point a wand and make suggestions. “Shall I boil its blood, My Lord? Shall I remove its fingernails one by one, My Lord? Perhaps crack off a rib and have it spear its liver?” He would make generic responses, neither accepting or dismissing each idea, until the muggle snapped. They would lash out at Bella, drawing blood. Muggles always had to draw blood first. It was what excited him, the blood on Bella's body, and his excitement spurned hers.

Today is no different. They had found a muggle woman in her bedroom and had cornered it on the floor with its back against a small dresser and side against the bed frame.

“What shall it be today, My Lord? Seal her nose and mouth and watch the panic in its eyes as it suffers?”

A mirror had fallen from the dresser, the glass shattered but still in the frame, and the muggle throws it at Bellatrix. The glass cuts her cheek and she hisses. She quickly retaliates, sending the shards back towards the muggle. They ignore her sounds of pain, both of them feeling their own blood run south. 

He comes up behind Bella, pressing his check against her cut. There is a mirror shard in the muggle's thigh, sticking up and flashing with the sunlight coming in from the window. He imagines it moving up its thigh, up its waist, and across its front, a shark fin in an sea of human flesh.

He closes his eyes and uses a fingernail to cut Bella's cheek so both sides match. She smiles as he cuts, he feels her swish her wand, and the muggle makes a sound of need.

His eyes snaps open to stare at the muggle. It is watching them, staring at Bella's blood smeared on his own cheek, and he knows they have found a kindred spirit, in a muggle of all people. Here before them is someone else who see blood flow from a body and feels their own blood stir in response.

Typically, the muggle is dead before they fucked in it's blood, but as he digs his finger into Bella's face the muggle watches with wide eyes dark with lust.

Today, he wants to roll around in that blood while it was still warm and leaking from a body. 

“Bella,” he says and she read his mind, the mirror shard in the woman's thigh flashing as it moves. 

The muggle's gasp is equal mix pain and pressure. Bellatrix coos in pleasure and skips towards the muggle, pulling her aside so that she is leaning against Bella's chest. Bella pulls down her shirt and begins making shallow cuts along her collar bone. He follows, placing a hand on a bloodied thigh, and kisses Bella with the muggle sandwiched between them. With his shirt banished, the muggle's blood smears on his chest and the muggle whines.

Behind Bella, the bed is a pristine white. White sheets, white painted walls, white drapes from the four posters.

“I want to hang this muggle between the bed posts, riddled with cuts, so that her blood drips down the walls and on the pillow, staining them while I fuck you.”

Two female groans answer him.

He looks down at the muggle. “If you keep staring at me like that, we won't make it to the bed.”

“P-please,” the muggle gasps. For her audacity of speaking to him, he slashes a cut into her side. She continues anyway. “If I'm going to die, you might as well make it a pleasurable death.”

She looks at him and licks her lips.

Bella looks at him, both checks dripping blood and a hand smeared with it, and leans over the muggle to lick the blood off his chest.

He banishes all of their clothes and digs his fingers into the muggle's wounds. Left hand in her thigh, right in her side. He uses his left hand to pump himself, the right to sneak around both women and cup Bellatrix's rear. And then with no warning he slams himself into the muggle.

She throws her head back, screaming, and Bella nips at her ears, her neck, drawing blood before swallowing it. He thrusts, the blood from the thigh coating his groin even further and both women are thrown backwards into the side of the bed. Bella's eyes sparkle at him, while the muggle simple stares at the ceiling. 

The muggle is bleeding heavily, skin pale, and she dies of blood loss with a small sigh. The blood is still flowing however, and he wants that as well as Bellatrix. He pulls out, tosses the dead muggle aside, and commands Bella to lay on on top. She slashes the body first, a cut between every rib, and lays breast to breast with the muggle. He reenters the dead woman.

There is nothing like blood on his cock and every thrust brings more, even as his hands on Bella's back move her back and forth on the muggle's bloody body. He keeps her close, his cock brushing Bella's center every time it moves, and they both feel the blood outside and inside them. Bella sneaks a hand down between the two female bodies and when he comes she follows not long after.

Bellatrix flips around, a sharp grin on her face and hair wild, her front smeared with blood.

It's a lovely sight. He licks designs clean on her skin, and by the time he reaches her belly button he is ready to fuck her on the muggle's woman body.

She stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “My Lord, what about the bed?”

It is still white, still pristine.

They widen the cuts on the dead body and hover it just below the ceiling while they rumple the sheets under a rain of blood. There are droplets on his back, on Bella's nose, but best of all there are splatters that grow all around them as the blood drips onto the comforter and spreads as it is absorbed. Bella is warm beneath him, pleading and they fuck until they can't anymore, too exhausted to do anything other then lick the blood from each other's fingers. 

When they recover, they fix the muggle to the ceiling and set the house on fire, the Dark Mark rising over the house.


End file.
